


Sherlock: Emerald On Amber

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Colours [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anniversary, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Music, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John celebrate their one year anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Emerald On Amber

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle. These versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

_‘John?’ Sherlock asked a few minutes later as John leaned over him, both of them naked._

_‘Mm?_

_‘Are you still mine?’_

_John shifted so he could look Sherlock in the eye. ‘Yes.’_

_‘Yes?’_

_‘Forever and always, I will be your John. And you will be my Sherlock.’_

_A grin broke out on Sherlock’s face and he smiled. ‘Good.’_

_They both leaned into the kiss, gripping each other tightly._

 

-oOo-

 

They’d had their ups and downs, their fights, their shouts, their swings. But those had been outweighed by the good moments; the breakfasts, the dinners, the hand-holding, kissing, and smiling as they watched each other sleep. The talks, the shared showers and food, and the sex. They’d been through it all and now here they were; John Watson and Sherlock Holmes approaching their one year anniversary.

John couldn’t quite believe it. He’d loved Sherlock since their first real date, but he hadn’t let himself believe that they’d make it a whole year. He’d thought either one of them would ruin it (they’d both come close to that) or that Sherlock would get himself killed (he came close to that weekly). But it was two weeks to the date and John couldn’t have been happier.

Neither could Sherlock and he practically skipped everywhere he went, scaring the crap out of Sally Donovan and Anderson. They both thought he’d finally snapped and was going to kill them all.

DI Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes couldn’t have been happier for them. They themselves were going to celebrate their nine month anniversary soon and neither were looking at leaving the relationship. In fact, Greg wanted to move in with Mycroft but he had no idea how to approach the subject. Mycroft, after all, was a very controlling man and this was his first real relationship, both with a man and physically with anyone.

So on Saturday when John and Greg found themselves at the local pub they frequented, both had a great deal to talk about.

‘I don’t know what to get him... or what to do,’ John said as he sipped his beer. He was beyond frustrated now. He’d been tearing his hair out trying to figure out what to get Sherlock. The man had never been in a long term relationship and he’d never wanted anything other than John’s company... what the fuck was he supposed to get him?

‘Is there anything he likes in particular?’ Lestrade asked, downing half his beer. Clearly he had his own problems and John made a note to ask him about it.

‘Erm... he likes cigarettes, my body and blowing stuff up.’

‘Hmm... right...’ Lestrade said and there was an evil glint in his eye.

‘What?’ John asked, afraid of the answer.

‘Well...’ Lestrade said and smirked slightly. ‘Smoke a cigarette while naked on a pound of C4. And after the sex, blow each other up.’

John snorted and Lestrade giggled uncontrollably, no doubt picturing Sherlock blowing himself up. It did seem a fitting way for Sherlock Holmes to go.

‘Yeah, okay, and when they ask me where I got the C4 I’ll point to a certain DI at Scotland Yard.’

Lestrade grinned and sipped his beer. ‘Firstly, you’d be dead, so you could hardly point a finger at me. Though I’ll go through the debris, grab one of your fingers, and point it at myself, fair?’

‘Not funny, Greg,’ John scowled. ‘Sherlock blows enough stuff up without you putting ideas in his head.

With a chuckle, Lestrade said, ‘Secondly, they’ll believe me over some nutcase doctor who’s thrown himself in with a junkie sociopath.’ John’s scowl deepened but Lestrade wasn’t done. He held up a finger and said, ‘ _Thirdly_ , my boyfriend is the British Government. Do you really think they’ll lock me up?’

‘If you kill his brother he might,’ John said.

Lestrade nodded and finished his beer. ‘Fair point. But none of it matter’s ’cause you’ll be dead. Another pint?’

John nodded and sighed when Lestrade returned. ‘What do I get him?’

‘Well, in all seriousness, what does he actually like? Apart from dead bodies.’

‘Maybe I could get him a body...’ John said wistfully.

‘Yeah,’ Lestrade grunted, ‘just don’t kill a person yourself. And don’t steal one of my murder victims, Dr Watson.’

John snorted and fiddled with his almost empty glass. He always did it, Lestrade noted, when he was anxious.

‘You’re seriously worried?’

‘’Course I am,’ John frowned. ‘We’ve been together a year, _one whole year_ , Greg. What am I supposed to get him? He sulks when I get something wrong and I don’t want him thinking I want out of the relationship. Lord knows we’ve had enough of that over the past twelve months.’

‘Hmm,’ Greg mused and sipped his drink. ‘Has he ever expressed a need for something? Other than your body, explosions, cigarettes, and dead bodies?’

‘No, not really,’ John sighed. ‘He never really wants anything apart from the usual... bloody hell, why can’t he be normal?’

‘If he was normal you wouldn’t be dating him,’ Lestrade pointed out.

‘True.’

The DI had finished his second beer in a matter of five minutes and John frowned.

‘Are you alright?’

‘No,’ the detective said honestly and John raised his eyebrows. Normally Lestrade lied about his drinking, especially after the whole Mycroft thing. John remembered dealing with the politician after a panic attack brought on from alcohol withdrawal. He’d never seen Mycroft Holmes that out of control, that fragile, and it had freaked him out a little. He could only imagine what it did to Greg.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I want to move in with Mycroft,’ Lestrade confessed.

‘And that’s a bad thing?’ John asked.

The DI seemed frustrated and John didn’t know what about. Surely moving in together was a good thing?

‘After the whole alcohol thing he’s been very... controlling, about everything he does; his diet, his work, everything. The only thing he doesn’t do properly is sleep and fucking eat. A diet, seriously, have you seen how thin the man is?

‘Anyway, he’s not going to let me waltz in and disrupt his little plan. He’s so fucking controlling. I just want to move in with him, is that so much to ask?’

John blinked as Lestrade got another beer and practically drowned himself in it. He came up for air and looked at John.

‘Er, okay,’ John said, his mind whirling. ‘Bit of a mouthful. Right, first things first; possible eating disorder, look into that. Possible OCD, that’s obsessive compulsive disorder, probably manifested because of having Sherlock for a brother and the work he does. That’d tie in with the weight thing and not sleeping.

‘Erm, all I can say is to broach the subject with him, you know, slowly. Just hint at what you want, you know?’

Lestrade nodded. ‘Right... eating disorder...’

Clearly he hadn’t heard half of what John had said and the doctor sighed. Mycroft seemed just as complicated as Sherlock. But at least Sherlock didn’t occupy a minor position in the British government _and_ he lived with John. But the eating disorder was right for both of them, though it was only because Sherlock forgot or “couldn’t” because he was working. If Mycroft was crash dieting regularly, which he shouldn’t have been because he was skinny enough, that was cause for concern. John made a note to keep an eye on the elder Holmes.

Lestrade was still lost in his thoughts and John stared at him. When had it become John’s turn to give out advice? Normally he was begging Lestrade for it. Now that he thought about it...

‘What do I get him?’

Lestrade smiled and sipped his drink at a normal, human pace, and seemed content for the moment not to try and swim in the bloody thing.

‘Well... I dunno, John, honestly. Romantic dinner, that’s a given. Maybe at that place where you’s first ate together and had your first date... Angel’s or something?’

‘Angelo’s.’

‘Right, go there. The guy’s a friend of Sherlock’s, right?’ John nodded. ‘Perfect. Set up a romantic dinner and just lavish him with attention. But maybe Sherlock already has that planned... want me to ask him?’

John nodded and Lestrade flipped out his phone.

‘Sherlock, you actually answered... huh, are you high?’ Pause. ‘No, it was a joke. Anyway, Johnny here wants to plan something special for your anniversary. You don’t have anything planned, right?’ He paused again and ran a finger around the edge of his glass. ‘Yeah, cancel that, that’s completely stupid. Yeah, let John do that part. So what are you getting him?’

The pause was much longer this time and Lestrade’s mouth morphed into a wider and wider grin as Sherlock spoke. He laughed at the end and John raised his eyebrows.

‘Damn, that’s perfect, Sherlock. Really, well done, he’ll love that. Yep, let him plan the dinner, you just give him that gift. And sex, remember sex.’

John heard Sherlock’s shout and Lestrade chuckled.

‘No, I’m not telling you what he’s getting you. Nope.... no... Sherlock, no... I don’t care, I’ll have Mycroft on you in a minute.’ He pulled the phone away and looked at John. ‘Swore and hung up.’

‘What’s he getting me?’

Lestrade grinned. ‘No way am I ruining that surprise, John Watson. Just wait, you’ll love it. He’s really put some thought into it. Seems Sherlock _can_ be lovely when he uses that massive intellect for good.’

John shook his head and started on his second beer. ‘I still don’t know what to get him.’

The DI paused at that and looked John over, carefully, like he was trying to decide what to say.

‘What?’

‘Just... think, John. Run through every meaningful conversation and _think._ Go back to 221B and look around, think about what Sherlock wants and loves.’

‘Did he tell you what he wants?’

‘No,’ Lestrade said and shook his head, ‘just mentioned something from a long time ago. I think you’ll remember soon enough. He didn’t say that’s what he specifically wanted but the fact that you remembered will show him you’re in it for the long run.’

John sighed in frustration. ‘You annoy me, Gregory.’

‘You love it, Johnathan.’

John rolled his eyes.

They got up to play pool and John groaned loudly. He absolutely sucked and guzzled down half his beer to make himself feel better.

‘So, Mycroft,’ Lestrade said, once again steering the conversation to him and his problems.

‘How’s the drinking thing?’ John asked as he tried, and failed, to sink one of his balls.

‘Good, he’s been sober a month. He pines for a drink, though, I can tell. He’s smoking more which has started me up again. But he’s sober.’

‘And the eating?’ John asked as Lestrade sunk two balls in a row. He groaned again.

Lestrade sighed and leaned against his pool cue. ‘I don’t know what it is. He controls everything he eats. Sometimes, and only on rare occasions, does he indulge in fatty food. And even then he barely eats any of it. He’s as thin as a rake and getting thinner now that he’s stopped drinking.’

John looked him over. He and Sherlock had problems, many problems, but it seemed Lestrade and Mycroft did too. Mycroft looked so calm and cool on the outside but John was beginning to realise he was just as messed up as Sherlock on the inside; Sherlock did drugs, Mycroft drank; Sherlock cut himself, Mycroft didn’t eat; Sherlock sulked, Mycroft went quiet.

‘I want to move in together because I love him,’ Lestrade continued and sunk another ball. ‘ _And_ because I want to keep an eye on him. Even his assistant worries; she says he never eats at work.’ He groaned as the white ball followed the black in. ‘Fuck it.’

John grinned as Lestrade paid for another round.

‘Just... talk to him, Greg. Not all at once, you know the Holmeses; an assault and Mycroft will hunker down. Just... slowly, yeah? Eating disorders are hard to crack, especially with men and with Mycroft’s age. It’s bullshit that only teenage girls do it.’

‘I know,’ Lestrade groaned and slipped more money into the table. ‘I just don’t know what to do. He’s so fucking stubborn. Anyway, enough about my problems. You and Sherlock, that romantic date at... Angero’s or whatever. That’ll be golden.’

‘And the present?’ John asked, amazed at Lestrade’s ability to switch topics.

‘Sit in your living room and look around, John.’

‘What?’

Lestrade smirked. ‘Just do it.’

 

-oOo-

 

So John did. Sherlock was at Bart’s, no doubt whipping a poor deceased person with some type of weapon. John looked around the flat carefully.

He saw scratched floorboards with a big black stain from where Sherlock had set fire to a cactus for “scientific” reasons. Surely John wasn’t expected to get him hazardous chemicals or fire... maybe a plant...

There was the coffee table covered in old newspapers, books, John’s open laptop and an ashtray. So Sherlock had started smoking again, recently, but only three. No, he wouldn’t want cigarettes or a lighter, he knew how John felt about his smoking.

John spotted the bookcase and wondered about books; did Sherlock want one? No, it wasn’t romantic or interesting. If Sherlock wanted a book he’d get it himself. No, this gift had to be something that Sherlock wouldn’t buy himself.

He moved to the fireplace and saw the skull (Sherlock definitely didn’t need another Burt... or Richard... or Nadine... it changed names as well as sexes, though Sherlock had stated it was a male skull). He saw the knife stabbed into the bills Sherlock would never open. No, he didn’t need more weapons, he had plenty of those.

He drifted over the pictures of Sherlock and himself, of him and Harry as kids and adults, and finally Sherlock and Mycroft as well as one of all of them; Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Lestrade.

No, no pictures, Sherlock hated having his picture taken. He was scowling in most of them and hiding behind John or Mycroft or a tree.

Okay, moving on to the couch. New couch? No, Sherlock loved the couch, practically lived on it, would probably marry it if it could do the things John did to him on a weekly basis. No, no couch.

Dressing gown?

No.

Pyjamas?

No.

Coat? Definitely not, loved that coat, a present from Mycroft.

Scarf? Jacket? Shoes?

No. No. No.

Besides, Lestrade had said living room. Clothes had nothing to do with the living room.

John looked around again and saw the rugs, the curtains, the wallpaper. No, none of it could be a gift. What the bloody hell had Lestrade been on about?

John’s eyes drifted to the corner where Sherlock’s violin sat, nestled in its very battered and peeling case. It was old, the plastic and wood cracked, and John felt that Sherlock really needed a new one. But the sociopath would never buy one, preferring to keep his ridiculously expensive violin (another gift from Mycroft in their younger years) in a stupid old case–

He gasped and said, ‘Oh.’ Of course. Of _course_. How could John be so stupid? The night came flooding back quickly;

 

_‘I was going to play my violin for a while,’ Sherlock said, ‘I won’t if you would prefer.’_

_‘No,’ John mumbled, blinking slowly to look at Sherlock. ‘Can you play in here? For me?’_

_‘You want me to?’ John nodded and Sherlock smiled. He leaned down and kissed John before saying, ‘I’ll be back.’_

_He was gone a minute and came back holding his expensive violin. He sat on the edge of the bed and popped open the case, smiling._

_‘I’ve been meaning to get a new case,’ he said as his nimble fingers trailed along the cracked wood and plastic. ‘This one is far too old.’_

_‘I’ll geh one for oo,’ John mumbled into the pillow. ‘Wah colour?’_

_Sherlock smiled, knowing John would never remember this conversation._

_‘Green,’ he answered, ‘green would be lovely.’_

 

John smiled at the memory, surprised he could remember it in such detail. He’d been deliriously drunk after a night out with Greg.

But he remembered it well; Sherlock saying he’d been meaning to buy a new case, John declaring that he’d get it. Sherlock probably thought John was too drunk to remember the conversation...

_‘Green... green would be lovely.’_

John smiled, suddenly knowing perfectly well what to get Sherlock. And he had to move fast, only a week to go. He had to find some music stores.

He flipped his phone open as he yelled for a taxi. Five minutes later he was sitting in the back of a black cab and talking to Lestrade.

‘ _Lestrade here._ ’

‘I know what to get him.’

He could imagine Lestrade smiling. ‘ _Good. He’ll love it._ ’

‘Yeah, I know.’

 

-oOo-

 

John fiddled as he waited for Sherlock. The man had been on a case and gone home to get changes; he was meeting John at Angelo’s. The place had closed for the night just for Sherlock and John. Their table was in the middle with one candle lit, the flame flickering about in the dim room.

John smiled and looked down at the box at his feet. He’d taken Sherlock’s violin and placed it inside the case, hoping Sherlock wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch the instrument or not.

He was nervous, very nervous. He hoped this night went well and that Sherlock didn’t hate the present. He wouldn’t, would he? Greg had seemed confident that he’d like it. Though the man was going through some things so it wouldn’t be surprising if his mind was iffy.

The door behind him opened and John turned to see Sherlock. He was dressed in a tight-fitting navy blue suit with one of those purple shirts John loved. He smiled and stood to kiss his boyfriend hotly, passionately, both grinding their hips into each other.

Sherlock pulled back first and smiled. ‘Hello, honey. Happy anniversary.’

‘Happy anniversary,’ John grinned.

They both sat and Sherlock placed a brown-paper-wrapped gift on the table. John looked at it and Sherlock smiled, saying, ‘Not until later.’

‘Ah, come on,’ John said and reached for it. Sherlock slapped his hand away. ‘Owe.’

‘Later.’

John scowled.

Angelo brought out two big plates of spaghetti with onions and jalapeños in John’s and garlic and chilli sauce in Sherlock’s. There was the perfect amount of grated cheese, salt and pepper on top and both men thanked Angelo as they tucked in.

‘Beautiful,’ John said through a mouthful as he sipped his red wine.

‘I’m glad our meal is so messy,’ Sherlock smiled and leaned forward. He used his thumb to flick away the sauce on John’s chin. He took his time licking said thumb, pressing it against his full, pink lips softly. John practically groaned as Sherlock slipped the digit into his mouth and sucked softly, whimpering slightly as his tongue came out to lap at the skin.

‘Fucking hell,’ John puffed and felt himself go hard.

Sherlock smirked and went back to eating as though nothing had happened.

‘Fuck you,’ John grinned.

Sherlock smiled.

They talked about nothing, really, as they continued their meal. John was delighted to see that Sherlock ate all of his and made a mental note to talk to Greg about it.

‘Stop thinking about my brother.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ John demanded.

Sherlock said, ‘He’s been eating less lately, I could tell, and you had pints with Lestrade not long ago; he would have brought it up. You smiled at my plate, showing you enjoyed the fact that I’d eaten it all. Then you looked slightly worried, and then glad. You made a mental note to tell Lestrade that perhaps Mycroft would eat more if it was his and Lestrade’s dish.’

John just shook his head and smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Sherlock, I don’t mean to be thinking about them. But I’m worried about your brother.’

‘Me too,’ Sherlock sighed and reached forward to grab John’s hand. They smiled at each other.

Their plates were cleared away and desert came. Sherlock could never resist choc-chip ice-cream with mint sauce and sprinkles. He tucked in as John nibbled at his chocolate cake. Angelo placed breath mints on the table as he collected their finished deserts a few minutes later. Both smiled and popped the white mints into their mouths.

‘So...’ John said and shook his head as the wine mixed with the mint in his mouth. Whoa, what a fucking rush. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John nodded at the present.

‘Oh, alright,’ Sherlock huffed and slid it across.

John grinned and put down his glass. He grabbed the package; heavy, square, felt like a book. A book? Why would John love a book?

He looked up to see Sherlock watching him and unwrapped the present quickly to find–

John gasped and his eyes went wide. Out fell a beautiful amber leather journal. A strap was wrapped around it to keep the refillable papers in and a simple gold pen was slipped into the strap. John felt his eyes water as he remembered the rest of that drunken night with Sherlock;

 

_‘Green,’ he answered, ‘green would be lovely.’_

_‘I’ll geh it,’ John slurred and yawned, ‘and you... geh me... diary. Miss writing...’ he yawned again, ‘blogging sucks.’_

_Sherlock chuckled as he pulled out his violin and pressed it to his neck. ‘What colour?’_

_‘Gold,’ John murmured, ‘amber... orange... yellow... somethin’ like dat. I like those... colours.’_

_‘You do realise all those colours are relatively similar?’_

_John stared at Sherlock stupidly_

 

John looked up to see Sherlock frowning.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ Sherlock asked. ‘I can get you something else.’

John stood quickly and rounded the table. He pulled Sherlock in for a passionate kiss and didn’t break away until both were gasping for air.

‘John?’ Sherlock questioned.

‘You... you remembered,’ John whispered.

‘Yes, but I wasn’t drunk,’ Sherlock smiled. ‘So you like it?’

John nodded and clutched the diary to his chest. ‘Sherlock, I love it. And I love you. You’re the most amazingly perfect man I’ve ever met.’

Sherlock chuckled and kissed John again. ‘Remember that the next time you kick me out of bed for experimenting on the butter.’

‘Sherlock, I nearly ate that butter.’

‘I warned you.’

John just shook his head and kissed Sherlock quickly before falling back into his seat.

‘So...’ Sherlock said slowly and John smirked. He picked up the box beside him and handed it over to Sherlock. ‘It’s rather big.’

‘I know.’

‘What is it?’

‘Open the box you prat and find out.’

Sherlock huffed but was smiling. He pushed the box between his knees and peeled one side open. His hands ducked inside and when they came out he gasped loudly.

Sherlock was holding a very brand new and nice, if John did say so himself, emerald green violin case. It was made of leather and looked like dragon scales. The sharp texture caught in the candlelight as Sherlock turned the case around in his hands. He opened it to find his violin and bow.

‘Do you like it?’ John asked. ‘I can change it if you don’t.’

Role reversal, neither found it funny.

‘John... it... you...’ Sherlock Holmes seemed at a loss for words, which never happened unless he and John were naked and rubbing against each other. ‘It... you remembered,’ he managed to choke out.

‘Yeah,’ John smiled. ‘I didn’t until Greg reminded me so thank him.’

‘Yes, but _you_ remembered,’ Sherlock said and bit his bottom lip. ‘John, thank you so much. This is the best gift I’ve ever received.’

John smiled. ‘I’m glad.’

Sherlock stood to kiss him softly and John whimpered when he pulled back.

‘Later, love. Believe me...’ he shivered and his voice became deep and gruff, ‘definitely later.’

John grinned, amazed that he had a boyfriend like Sherlock Holmes. One year. One _full_ year. He wondered if anyone else was as dizzily happy as he was.

Sherlock began to play, softly, a song that tore at John’s heart while filling him with joy. He just watched Sherlock, mesmerised as his skilful and nimble fingers danced along the strings. His eyes were closed as he pulled back on the bow, swaying with the music he was playing.

He continued for minutes, or hours, or days, John didn’t know or care. Sherlock had completely captivated him; mind, body, soul, _everything_.

Sherlock stopped suddenly and stooped to kiss John softly, pressing his full lips against the doctor’s.

‘I love you, John Watson. Happy one year anniversary.’

John grinned up at him. ‘You are a bloody amazing man, Sherlock Holmes, and I love you.’

Sherlock chuckled and pulled back, resting his fingers once more on the strings.

‘Sherlock?’

‘Mm?’

‘Happy anniversary.’

They grinned at each other


End file.
